Cyclicity
by Renenet D
Summary: Sooner or later, a person reaches a point where they have to choose: a leap forward or a fall backwards?


**Title**: Cyclicity

**Author**: Renenet

**Category:** Gen; Future fic, Daniel's POV; angst, character study, friendship

**Spoilers:** everything overall, but nothing specific

**Summary:** Sooner or later, a person reaches a point where they have to choose: a leap forward or a fall backward?

**Warnings:** maybe one naughty word, but generally pretty harmless. Oh, a couple of tissues might be useful to have on stand by.

**Notes:** It's your choice whether you want to read this as a cannon-future fic, an AU fic, or you'd like to view it through the (pre)slashy glasses. Whatever dials your gate.

This is pretty dark, even for me. I'm not sure where it came from and why, but it begged to be written, annoying me so much I couldn't write anything else. So. Here it is.

Huge _Thank You_ to Anne for alphaing and betaing this thing! All the mistakes left are exclusively mine!

**Colorado Springs, December 23th, 2010.**

The tree was almost dead.

Daniel poked it with his foot, and the needles sprinkled the brown and blue carpet underneath the wilted thing.

Flat line. Time of death ... sometime during the weekend.

Gate travel could be a bitch.

Shrugging off his jacket Daniel carefully stepped around the plant remains and dragged himself to the kitchen. Making coffee was something he could do deaf and blind, with only one functional arm.

Oh, wait. He _did_ that, on several more or less memorable occasions. Chuckling to himself – although it was hard to find anything funny in his mind at the moment – he waited till the machine finished processing the sacred beans, poured his prime food group into a cup and strolled to the living room.

He spent the next hour and a half sprawled on the couch, surfing through the endless number of TV programmes, trying to catch that elusive _something_ which had been bugging him for the last week or so, always at the edge of his consciousness, trying to tell him ... what? Something important, he was sure of it.

If he could only relax enough so he could concentrate on the task.

Deciding that TV was boring, Daniel turned it off and threw the remote in the general direction of its usual place. Ooops. Missed. Bummer.

With the TV off, and the afternoon well into its late hours, the only light was coming from outside, sneaking through the ivory-white curtains. It was then that Daniel realized the sorry state of his house.

Well ... it wasn't like he had been unaware of it before. He just wasn't ... _really_ aware of it.

The obvious lack of decorations and lights, as well as that shriveled tree lying in the hallway, could easily be attributed to his absence from Earth over the last several days. If he had been home, he would've decorated.

Really, he would. If only for Cassie and Sam and their families.

On the other hand, Sam and Cameron were on their way to his parents, and Cassie was planning to meet them there in two days. Teal'c was offworld, visiting grandchildren, and Vala ...

Vala was funny, annoying, competent teammate and a good friend. They've tried, they've failed, but kept working together. She was currently playing with SG-27 (especially with Colonel Rannard) on some tropical planet and loving every minute of it.

He was glad she found her place under the sun.

Too bad it couldn't be with him.

Cutting off the pityfest before it started in earnest, Daniel slowly got up and felt his way toward the light switch.

It looked better in the dark. That way he at least couldn't see the bareness of his house.

It was there and then, when Daniel turned around and opened the drinking cabinet, that that _thing_ suddenly became crystal clear.

House.

His house.

Not home.

It was never "home", just "house".

His hand on the bottle of JD, Daniel froze, letting his brain contemplate this new – or was it new? – revelation.

After thirteen years of working for the SGC, or, technically, over fourteen, if he were to count from the very first day he stepped into the Mountain, he had changed so many houses and apartments, that he lost count. Compared to the reprecussions of every Lazarus act, his moving through foster families was a stroll around a ZOO.

His ... places to live ... were more private museums than homes. Storage facilities for his artifacts and books and antique furniture. Never really places for living. Never really _homes_.

Hell, his quaters at the SGC were more of a "home" to him than any of the apartments or houses. Or, maybe he should write his address as: "Dr. J, SG-1, tent no.3, P-something".

A snicker escaped his lips, although the situation felt more sad than funny.

Nope, not funny at all, realizing at the age of forty-five that he had no home.

Reaching once more for the bottle, he filled a glass with JD and walked slowly around the room.

He was sure that part of his gloomy mood had something to do with it being holiday season and all that family-oriented hype. Not his kind of thing. Not since he had been eight.

But part of it – a much bigger part – was something that had been brewing in the back of his mind for a while.

It was not just about this house-home thing.

For the last several ... face it ... several _years_, he felt detached, adrift. Tired.

Yeah.

He was bone-deep tired and it had nothing to do with past injuries.

Perhaps forty-five wasn't that much, but as the saying went – it wasn't about the age, but about mileage.

Too many light years. Too much fighting. Too much hurt. Too much blood. Too many deaths.

It all, finally, after all the years, became simply _too much_.

His wanderings had brought him in front of the main reason he bought this house – a fireplace. Rarely lit, because even little smoke was not good for books, but it reminded him of warmth, and team nights, and friendship. His gaze was drawn to one of the pictures resting on the mantle. The one that Jack took from the door to his room, playing candid camera and grinning like a maniac, when Daniel was trying out the Indiana Jones outfit for the SGC Haloween charity party.

The memory gave him a pause.

His room.

Not Jack's. Not _spare_ room.

_Daniel's_ room in Jack's house.

After several minutes of stunned silence, Daniel slowly moved backwards, carefully placed his glass onto the coffee table, and looked around the living room.

Unpacked boxes, basic furniture, dead plants, empty aquarium and bare walls.

He reached out and collected all the photographs from the mantle, then turned around and went into his bedroom.

**Washington DC, December 24th 2010.**

He forgot which time of day it was.

By the time his taxi dropped him in front of a large, dark house, it was the middle of the night. Or morning, depending on one's bio-rythm.

Daniel paid the driver, who, in turn, helped him to take out his bags, settling them on the pavement.

As the sound of the car faded away, he realized how quiet this neighbourhood was. A huge, greenery filled land/yard surrounding the house could had something to do with it.

Peace.

That's what it felt like, every time he came here. Only this time ... this time-...

He shivered in the gust of cold wind, shook his head as if to clear it, swung his backpack over the right shoulder, grabbed both bags and approached the front door.

Years of training showed in little ways. Like noticing surveilance cameras, microphones and alarms, and all the other things a simple archaeologist should never have to know.

Any minute now.

As predicted, porch lights flooded him in yellowish brightness, an abrupt opening of the door following a second later.

Lieutenant General Jack O'Neill stood in front of him in sweats, with hair sticking in all directions and a gun in hand, just in case. His eyes were wide awake, and the expression on his face balanced precariously between pleasant suprise and worried frown.

"Hey", Jack said in a voice still gruff from interrupted sleep, set aside his gun and motioned at Daniel to get inside while reaching for one of his bags. No questions asked.

Daniel managed a mumbled "Hey" of his own, dropping down the backpack and the bag once the heavy door shut behind him.

There was an infinite moment of silence, and he could feel, as well as see, Jack's scanning gaze, reading him, assessing everything from his health to his mental state in ten seconds flat.

They never needed many words.

Unable to bear looking into Jack's knowing eyes, Daniel lowered his head, only to be engulfed into a strong embrace a moment later.

Tears pricked his eyes, warring for release, but he held on, clutched the material under his hands as tightly as he dared, then managed to catch a deep breath and move away.

Jack released him, his hand still on Daniel's arm. "I thought you were offworld".

Something must have shown in Daniel's eyes, because the next moment he was ushered through the hallway and into the spacious living room they'd spent two weeks refurbishing and decorating, once upon a time.

There was a middle sized tree in one corner, silver ... spaceships? ... dangling from most of it's generous branches. Corners of Daniel's mouth curled up in an involuntary smile, especially at the tiny, silver grey alien hanging from the top.

He felt Jack approach to stand just behind his right shoulder. "They were on sale. Too cool to ignore".

A glass was pushed into his hand, and he looked down at the amber liquid in the crystal artwork. One from the old set bought and left by Sara.

His mind felt blank and while he was searching for words, his coat was tugged off and a hand on his elbow directed him to a well-known, worn but comfortable couch. The throw pillows and afgan were new, gifts from Sam and Cassie, but he felt safe, cocooned in their warmth. Slowly sipping at his drink, Daniel watched as Jack lit up the fire, then, once it caught, switched off the main light, leaving only small, twinkling Christmas lamps interfering with the fireglow.

If not for the crackling of fire, the silence would had been complete. It was comfortable silence, though, and Daniel was reluctant to brake it.

A bottle appeared from his right, tilting to refill his glass before being deposited on the coffee table. A body sunk onto the couch next to him, a whisper of touch along his side, and something tightened in his chest.

"I'm not going back". It sounded so final and Daniel was almost suprised to realize he actually meant it. That tightness increased. He gulped down the rest of the whiskey, enjoying the burning feeling which reminded him he was still alive.

"I know". Jack's voice was quiet and not suprised.

"I'm through". It was difficult to breathe. Why was the glass shaking?

"I know".

A hand gently extracted the empty glass from his hand, setting it aside.

Daniel slumped forward, his elbows on knees and face hidden in hands. "Tired", he mumbled, knowing Jack would understand all the meanings of the word.

He thought that an arm sneaking around his shoulders would shatter his fragile composure, but as his nape was squeezed and hair ruffled, Daniel realized he was too exhausted to react.

If he listened really hard, he could hear a note of relief and a tentative smile in Jack's voice. "Your room's all cleaned up and ready. I have a week off and we can talk about everything after a long sleep".

The words penetrated the numbness of his brain, making him lift his head to look at his friend.

He was met with brown eyes filled with understanding. "Welcome home".

After what felt like a lifetime of wandering, the sudden relief was almost too much to handle.

For the first time in a long while Daniel's eyes genuinely reflected his smile.

**THE END**

7


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